Where Dreams Lay

[three]

[three] "so here i go. it's my shot. feet fail me not. this may be the only oppertunity that I got" -eminem

Tonight I dream. It's of something I've dreamt of before—a memory perhaps.

    I'm in a room, and not sure whose, but it's a bedroom in a house. I'm about six or seven, and jumping up and down on the mattress. Footsteps produce from far away, and they grow louder until I am faced with a woman I barely recognize—but her smile and familiar voice fill me with the pleasure only a mother can deliver her child.

    Dreams are weird. I say this because Luke and Casey and Joey are in that room too; playing with toys. Luke is younger than ten, Casey and Joey are most likely just a toddler. At this point in my life: they weren't even born.

    Mom looks at me, and I stop jumping. She says something but I barely remember the exact words; it's just a faint memory.

    However, I sit on my bed, and she guides me close to her, reaching into her pocket. She takes out a bracelet—my bracelet—and places it in the palm of my hand. As a six year old, I perhaps don't understand what she was really doing, but thinking about it now, I do.

    At this point I remember exactly what she says to me:

    "This is for you Paris. It's a bracelet that means so much to me,"

    "But mommy, why are you giving it to me then?"

    "My dear Paris," she strokes my hair behind my left ear, "When you are old enough, you will find out, but for now . . . treasure it."

    I'm pondering this, then faces Mom again, "Why did you name me Paris?"

    "A long time ago, something important happened in my life. Something a young girl like you won't understand. Your name is special Paris. It's unique, and with this gift, I promise you that when the sun shines bright on us, and when you know the reason you were born, I will take you to this special place. A place where we can hold this charm up to the sky, and smile. Until then," she takes my hand—which is smaller than a normal six year olds hand—and touches the charm lightly, "never forget who you truly are."

 *   *   *

   "Beep, beep, beep, beep . . ."

    I groan as my alarm—an annoying one really—continues to produce sound. Sun shines through my window and I automatically remember last night.

    Was it a real dream? Or just me having a memory of my past?

    I shut the alarm off and sit up, dangling my feet of the bed. It's kind of dark now that I think about it; the curtain is open all the way, and not much sun shines through, but just enough to cause me to squint slightly.

    Once my eyes adjust to the lighting, I look at my phone—and gasp, realizing it's five thirty am. Way too early to be waking up . . . no wonder it's not as bright as usual.

   Since I'm already awake, there's no point to going back to bed, so I decide to get ready for school today. I check my puppy calendar sitting on a wall in my room, and read the date: Friday. March. 15th. Finally . . . it's Friday!

   After applying no makeup—I never wear makeup because my fat hair pretty much covers my face. I also never put it up. It makes me feel like everyone is looking at my face and examining me, like they can figure out my secrets by just watching my facial movements—I head down stairs with my hair loose and natural.